The Early Flamingo Catches The—
by Sailor Coruscant
Summary: Every morning starts the same way: with coffee. Lots of coffee.


**The Early Flamingo Catches The—What Do Flamingoes Eat Anyway? **

_Wake up, you lazy thing. Up, up, up, up, up!_

On the final '_up!_' CJ rolls over, cursing all mornings and alarm clocks. She aches to reach over and smash the noisy beast into some sort of snooze mode, but Danny disabled it the last time he stayed over and she hasn't found the time to find out how to switch it back on yet. So she's learned to just get up at the moment the clock starts beeping at her, but it isn't pleasant. She'd rather enjoyed those stolen extra minutes of sleep each morning (they weren't really stolen, as she'd set her alarm to earlier than she had to get up so she had the freedom to play with the snooze button); it was part of her system.

_Come on, let's do this. It's just another morning, like all the others, and they all turned out fine too._

CJ swears, just once, emphatically, to get it out of her system before she even thinks about going in to work and the waiting cameras, and sits up. She silences the alarm and stumbles into the shower to wash the sleep from her eyes, remembering for a change to switch on the coffee machine before she does so.

Every morning starts the same way: an argument with the alarm clock (still set to earlier than she wants to get up, but that just means more time in the shower), said shower, then the first cup of coffee as she decides what to wear (usually with a lot of stress over trying to remember the last time she wore each available suit to make sure that she doesn't wear the same thing twice in a week—she'd done that in her first year at the White House and some of the reporters still liked to tease her about it, hence the need for coffee as she dresses), then hair and make up (not too much makeup, as that looks unprofessional, but not too little, because that would make her look washed out on television), then a frantic search for shoes and her purse before grabbing a muesli bar (who has time for breakfast? She'll get one of those low-fat muffins at the office if she's still hungry) and a second cup of coffee for the car.

The radio in the car gives her ten second sound bites of the basic things she needs to know today. CJ listens to the the twenty-four hour news radio out of habit rather than any actual belief in their content; there's something reassuring about knowing that the dumbest thing she's going to hear from the newsmedia all day will be over before she even gets in to work.

She slurps coffee from her travel mug while waiting at a red light, listening to an "in-depth exclusive" rant by the station's "current affairs" editor/guru/republican/schmuck about how the price of gas continues to go up despite all that the government has said about wanting to keep it down. Obviously it's all the president's doing, as he's clearly not in touch with the average American family. CJ knows how much that schmuck makes; the closest he gets to an average American family is the single mom who makes his coffee in the morning.

CJ parks her car, her beloved beast, remembering to raise the top in case she loses herself in work and misses a thunderstorm again, swallows the last mouthful of tasty caffeinated goodness and feels human enough to deal with running the Secret Service gauntlet. She's been having trouble with her swipe card recently, actually ever since Charlie played that prank on her, and given that she does work for a branch of the United States government it's taking entirely too long for a replacement to appear. But it works this morning, so she doesn't have to be frisked and tutted at, she can just make her usual way past Frank at the desk (who always teases her about her stupid card, even when it does work) and in towards her office.

The communications section is half-empty, the bustle of morning madness a din rather than a clamour. CJ supposes, so close to the holidays, those who can are taking time off, but she's what they call "essential staff", funnily enough, and she gets time off when the President does. She can't remember the last time President Bartlett was seen not working, but most nights she manages to get a few hours sleep once the print deadlines have passed. She's even been on a couple of dates this year.

But it's quiet this morning, which is both reassuring and probably tempting fate. It's usually just after everyone leaves the building that things fall apart, and after a few years working here CJ knows when to be superstitious. So she's glad to see that Carol's in a tizz as she reaches her own office, thrusting files at her and announcing that CJ's got a briefing meeting in ten minutes and that they're already behind schedule even though work doesn't technically begin for another fifteen minutes.

Working for the President is like that sometimes.

CJ turns up the volume on CNN as her computer boots up and she flicks through the files, remembering that she'd meant to take the environmental safety briefing documents home to read last night so she would have a clue as to which species of fish (or was it birds this time?) they were meant to be saving by spending all that taxpayer money on its habitat and why they were saving it. The stock phrase, "because it's the right thing to do" almost never goes down well at the press briefings.

She checks the wires, there's nothing too dramatic going on this morning: continuing war on the other side of the planet (still without any military involvement from the United States, she's glad to note), although there's hope of a ceasefire; a shopping mall is burning down in London (no doubt to the great inconvenience of the holiday shoppers) and everyone has written followups on yesterday's announcement about the homelessness initiative and tweaks to Social Security (generally considered a Good Thing by Republicans and Democrats alike, though that might just be the holidays speaking—no one wants to be a public scrooge).

Then it's off to the briefing meeting—half an hour with the Treasury Secretary to discuss the finer details and implications of the new deal they struck with Congress over the military budget for the coming year. CJ's glad none of the Joint Chiefs are there—it means she can ask questions and receive considered opinions, not just the stock phrase, "because it's the right thing to do". And of course she's aware of the irony, but it's different when she says it.

Toby's there, and it's only his biting wit that keeps her eyes from glazing over as one of the Treasury Secretary's aides drones on about why the Navy is switching to five hundred dollar ashtrays when they're not actually allowed to smoke on either the ships or submarines anymore. She supposes it's in case someone torpedoes precisely two yards away from any entrances to a base.

CJ takes it all in, knowing that there'll be a test later on, but there's a part of her that is dreaming of a tropical beach with warm sand and beautiful young cabana boys just aching to be corrupted by a mature woman like herself. She shuts that away with a grimace lest she become too distracted and focusses instead on a hundred thousand dollars set aside for branded post-it notes. Right. If Danny doesn't ask her about that in the briefing she'll buy him a drink next time he asks her out. "People need post-its", she'll answer with a shrug, and if she's lucky there'll be one sticking out of his notebook for her to gesture at.

Then it's off to Senior Staff, memo in hand just in case someone asks. Carol catches her in the corridor to pass on the latest from Central Europe— negotiations proceeding nicely, perhaps a ceasefire by midnight their time—and a few preliminary questions from veteran reporters who know which sort of things she can and can't answer on the spot. CJ looks them over and tells Carol who to chase to get the answers (something the reporters could have figured out for themselves if they didn't delight so in tormenting her) and it's into the Oval Office with a big smile and a, "Good Morning, Mister President."

Toby's right behind her—she'd forgotten about him as they walked the corridors (something that happens all too frequently at the pace the White House runsno one has any time to hold more than one person or conversation in their head)—and he mutters something about the terrible (sunny) weather and what exactly is good about it being morning. Sometimes she can see his point, but today is going to be a good day for CJ, she knows it, and she grins when the President decides to start explaining the etymology of 'morning' to them all (from the old English, _morgen_, which most likely has proto-Germanic roots).

Josh is in fine form this morning too, at one point she counts he and the President running at 5PPM (puns per minute), a new record for a Senior Staff meeting (the world record is 25PPM for 5 minutes straight once at a policy planning meeting with Toby joining in). CJ rolls her eyes, feeling a stab of pity for poor Donna, who'll have to put up with Josh acting like this all day long. He's always like this after a win, and getting the military budget sorted and agreed upon was definitely a win.

Leo tries to keep the meeting in order, but it's something of a losing battle with Josh and the President both playing the jubilant fool. Even the news that the economy is falling apart can't stop these two, as they've convinced three Senators to change their minds and pass the stimulus package Treasury put together last week. CJ knows it's going to be a good day, and her job hasn't even really started yet.

When everyone's got their assignments for the day (CJ's is to keep the press mostly happy, as always, and to organise a photo opp with the about to be appointed Ambassador to Brazil), it's time to leave Leo and the President to get on with running the country and return to her own office for a private moment with another cup of coffee. She slams the door in the face of the journalist from the Post, because that woman should know better after all this time than to mess with CJ when she's stealing coffee time with only ten minutes left before the briefing.

"That's not very nice, you know," Danny says from his place on her couch and CJ yelps, the coffee going flying. She looks down at the spreading stain on her blouse, and the splatters on the carpet and her eyes narrow.

"Get out," CJ snaps, taking back all her nice thoughts about him from this morning, because dammit, that was her coffee and she needed that. She slams the door behind him too, and remembers to close the blind before going to the closet to get changed. The dry cleaning's been done recently, she's glad to note, so she has something to get changed into. CJ even remembers to leave Carol a post-it (ha!) telling her there was a coffee accident so she knows to fix it with the cleaning staff.

With only seconds remaining before she has to dash out to the briefing, CJ slumps into her chair and reaches into a drawer to retrieve one of her secret stash of chocolates, procured just in case of emergencies like this. It's delicious, just as she expected, and it fortifies her as she goes over what she needs to say in her head.

And then it's up and out of the office and onto the podium to face the waiting hoard of reporters.

"Good morning everyone; hope you're looking forward to the holiday break. Let's get this thing started with a rundown of the President's schedule for the next few days, and then we'll move on to discussing financial reform and I'll answer all the questions you have about the new military budget and our new stimulus package..."

Showtime.


End file.
